


Hamartia

by Ejunkiet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, F/M, On Hiatus, Post game exploration, Rating subject to change, not spoiler free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-15 22:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3464912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I came to warn you." </p><p>He hovers at the edge of the dream, a complicated emotion wrestling across his expression.</p><p>"Events have been set in motion. The secret we shared, about the true nature of the foci, is going to be discovered. They will turn on you." He glances away, features finally settling on an emotion that she is intimately familiar with: regret. "Ir abelas, lethallin."</p><p>--</p><p>A post-game exploration that follows through the consequences of certain actions, and strives to set things aright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hamartia

**Author's Note:**

> This came about when I thought about the likelihood of the relationship between the Lavellan Inquisitor and Solas having a happy ending, and realising I just couldn't accept that. Now, that's not to say the path towards that goal is going to be _easy_...

“And then she tore the Magister limb from limb, sending the severed parts to the four corners of the fade, and then-"  
  
Excited voices hush to a respectful murmur, interspersed with whispers of ‘ _Herald’_ and _sent by ‘Andraste herself’_ as Lavellan walks through the courtyard, head held high, with the confident presence of the remainders of her troupe, Krem and the Iron Bull marching close to her side.  
  
Her clan is dead, the vallaslin that tied her to her own people gone. It had been almost a year since she had slept amongst the trees, and a year and a half since she had last spoken Elvhen. There is little of herself left that she still recognises - she couldn't care less what the rumours about her said.  
  
"See you later, Boss."  
  
Bull's hand is a comforting weight as he clasps her around the shoulder, shirking off his shield as he turns to make a beeline for the tavern. Cremesius turns to offer her a brief salute, before striking out towards the armoury to repair the breastplate of his armour.  
  
She takes the last few steps into the keep alone.  
  
\--  
  
It had taken a little over five months for Leliana to be ordained as the new Divine. Shortly after, with the worst of the diplomatic incidents within the Free Marches dealt with, Josephine had moved her office to the capital of Orlais, where she'd be better situated to deal with the intricacies of the game, and from there it didn't take long for the rest of her inner circle to start taking their leave, returning to their own lives now that the crisis had passed.  
  
She can't say it had been easy. The night that Dorian had left for Tevinter, she had been wracked with nightmares of bodies riddled with crystals and the sickly red glow of lyrium, and it was only the interjection of Cullen - who damn-near broke down her door - that had stopped her from using the forces of the fade to bring the walls of the Keep down around them. Her powers had grown a great deal since she'd acquired the anchor; a useful thing in battle, but now that the majority of the fighting was over, she'd found herself facing difficulties keeping it under her control. She'd had to resort to venting the excess regularly until she had learned to manage the increased amount, and even then she'd had to mask her aura to reduce the effect of her magic on the people around her.  
  
Afterwards, Lavellan had moved from her quarters into small building off of the main courtyard; a quiet place that reminded her of Haven, removed but not completely isolated from the Inquisition itself. With its low ceilings and south facing windows that opened onto her own private herb garden, it didn't take long for her to settle here, more so than she ever had in that lofty, cavernous room in the main castle.  
  
By the time Varric left to join his old friends back in the Free Marches, she was sleeping a little easier, a little longer. When it came to Cassandra, determined in her quest to revive the seekers of truth, she had bid her a warm farewell, and meant it, truly.  
  
The Inquisition had served its purpose, as had its Inquisitor. She had no right to hold back her closest companions from their own.  
  
Cullen stayed, though, in spite of everything, citing the maintenance of their private army as the reason. It wasn't a lie: whilst a number of their soldiers had returned to their families, a large portion still remained, pledged to serve the Inquisition until stability had returned to the lands of Thedas. Accompanied by the Chargers, they traveled far and wide across the regions quelling local disputes, and scouting out the last of the rifts that still spewed demons from the depths of the Fade.  
  
It was during this time that she first noticed something unspoken develop between herself and the Commander. It was present within every late night conversation, every lingering glance across the war room table. What had started out as mutual respect had eventually blossomed into affection - all it would take was a word, and it could be the start of something new altogether.  
  
"Hera-"  
  
Cullen cuts himself off midway through his greeting with a subtle wince, his expression apologetic as he appears at her side just as she enters the great hall, touching her arm lightly to bring her to a stop. "Lavellan. I had a few questions regarding the last of the breaches in the Free Marches. When you have a moment, of course."  
  
She rubs the skin around her eyes, taking a breath to expel the clutter of her thoughts, and bring her focus back to the present.

According to her schedule - as sparse as it was - she was not expected anywhere for at least two hours. She could make time for him now. She gestures for him to take the lead, falling into step beside him as they move through the elegant space of Josephine's old office and down the short walkway to the great swinging doors of the war room.

As they enter, she can feel Cullen's eyes on her, his brow furrowed as he takes in her features, and although she has been careful to mask the signs of her exhaustion, she wouldn't be surprised if during the last few months - since the incident that neither of them speak of - he's learned to look past the careful mask she wears for the public. She can't imagine what he's seeing, if he can read her half as well as she's taught herself to read him. She places the vast breadth of the war table between them, taking a small measure of comfort in its support as she braces her weight against it, examining the dark wood and its score of scars from various blades.

She doesn't have to wait long for Cullen to speak, his voice hesitant in breaking the silence that has fallen between them.  
  
"This can wait until tomorrow."  
  
"It's fine. I'm fine."  
  
"Lavellan..."  
  
She glances up to find the harsh lines of his features softened, the scar on his upper lip accentuated by the unhappy twist of his frown. When she doesn't say anything in response, he tries again, his eyes burning with fierce intensity as his gaze drives into hers, imploring.  
  
"Please.”

She watches him, her resolve wavering. She is not going to get much rest either way – she expends too much energy extending her reach into the far corners of the Fade while she sleeps for her nights to be truly restful. If she leaves now, though, she could use the extra time to set up additional meditation aids, prepare a herbal tea to ease her passing into the Fade.

She smothers a smile at his sigh of relief when she inclines her head in agreement; tucking it behind her hand as she bends to pick up her travelling pack from where she’d dropped it by the door upon entry.

“I’ll go.”

“Get some rest, Inquisitor. Maker keep you."  
  
\--  
  
When she opens her eyes, she finds herself back in Haven. It is too remarkable, too impossibly familiar, for it to be just a dream.  
  
"Solas."  
  
His is a familiar presence at the back of her mind, a brilliant point of focus amidst the soft edges of the Fade as he breaks away from the shadows of the Chantry and takes a step towards her.  
  
"Lethallin."  
  
His appearance is almost unrecognisable. His hair has grown in, forming a close crop of auburn against his skull that highlights the long lines of his face, the proud arch of his brow, and he radiates an aura of power she has never associated with him before. It's easy to see the last few months have not treated him kindly, however; the short amount of time has aged him, exaggerating the pronounced lines of his features until he appears almost gaunt, tired, the skin around his eyes deep and weathered.  
  
"I came to warn you."  
  
"Warn me?"  
  
He hovers at the edge of the dream, some complicated emotion wrestling across his expression.  
  
"Events have been set in motion. The secret we shared, about the true nature of the foci, is going to be discovered. They will turn on you." He glances away, features finally settling on an emotion she is intimately familiar with: regret. "Ir abelas, lethallin."  
  
Something breaks inside her at his softly spoken elvhen, a deep longing igniting within her chest, and for a long moment she can't quite catch her breath.  
  
He watches her from the shadows, waiting, the faint light from the breach glistening off the metal buckles of his armour, scuffed and dirty even in a dream.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
There is no question that he is not at least partially responsible for this; the guilt that flickers across his expression proclaim as much. Yet he says nothing. She decides to try a different tack; he'd always appreciated her questions.  
  
"Who are you really, pride?"  
  
She uses the common translation, feeling a small measure of satisfaction when he flinches.  
  
"A foolish man trying to correct the hubris of his past."  
  
He pauses, eyes narrowing as he glances sharply to the side, his grip tightening around the staff that appears in his hands - when he turns his face back to her, his eyes are pained.  
  
"It's not safe for you here, not anymore. Head to the northernmost region of the Free Marches. I will join you there."  
  
"Will you give me answers then?"  
  
He hesitates briefly, eyes flitting between her and the landscape, before: " _yes_."

His voice is resigned, breathless, edged with a desperation that she has not seen from him since – since Redcliff. There’d always been a light, a fighting spark within him that had fought against the inevitable; that spark was brighter now as his eyes fixed on hers, his hands wringing together between them before his voice prompts her again, laced with urgency. "You must go, now. Quickly."  
  
She wakes up.

**Author's Note:**

> Join me at my [tumblr!](http://ejunkiet.tumblr.com)


End file.
